


Orders

by ritsuko



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Disobeying Orders, Emotional Hurt, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Orders, Physical Abuse, Poor Bucky, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the first time he's been used like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orders

It's not the first time he's been used like this. In all honesty, he'd been had many times before, by numerous men and women. He's not allowed to pick and choose, so they do it for him.

Brock's dick makes a sick squelching sound as it shoves into the back of his throat before ripping back out again. The man fucks his face without relent, hand fisted in his shaggy brown hair and makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat.

"This almost makes it all worth it, all the shit I have to suffer. You're lucky. You get to be turned off, don't have to deal with everyday minutia. Makes me sick." The black haired man babbles, pubes scratching at the brunettes chin with each slap of flesh.

The Winter Soldier doesn't think he's lucky. There's nothing about this job that requires luck, just skill. Everything he is, he has been trained to be. 

"Come on, you could at least suck a little harder. It's not like you have anywhere to go right now." Brock complains, wiggling his hips in a way that closes off his air passage for a moment.

He obliges, tongue laving at the veins in the underside of the man's cock, cheeks hollowed in suction. Rumlow gasps, fist gripping hard enough to rip a hank of his hair out.

Still, this is gentle compared to some things he has had to do.

Brock leers down at him, a smile half splayed across his lips. "You look good like that. Really slutty, on your hands and knees. I think it suits you more than all this shit Pierce has you doing. After all this is over, I'm gonna see if maybe all the boys can have a little fun with you, would you like that?"

The soldier doesn't respond, just hums softly around the meat in his mouth, and feels the other man shake. Rumlow's idle threat doesn't bother him, it's just one of many he's dealt with over the years. He can remember a time that the scientists unfroze him just so see how long his sexual stamina could last.

The results were, in their opinion, beyond satisfactory.

"What about you, don't you want to touch yourself?" Brock teases maliciously, and the soldier raises his hollow stare to him. He doesn't feel anything for the other man, and isn't aroused, but that hasn't stopped others from demanding a show of him in the past. He licks around the cock in his mouth, hoping that if the other man comes, he'll forget the game.

Brock pulls out of his mouth with a slick pop, a trail of saliva still connecting the head of his cock to the other man's dick. "Take off your clothes." He orders, and the soldier can only comply. 

There's nothing erotic about it, just the efficient unbuttoning of his jacket, unzipping of his pants, pull off and push down of his under shirt and underwear. He's limp, tense, and covered in scars. Brock gives a low whistle.

"Damn, no wonder they keep you on ice. Who'd want to look at this for very long?" He states cruelly, but the soldier just stares impassively back at him. With a grimace, Brock decks him across the face. The soldier doesn't even stagger under the blow, just stares blankly at him with a metallic taste in his mouth. "God, you're no fucking fun at all. Can't even get a rise out of you. You're like fucking a broken doll, you know that?"

It's been said before, but the soldier doesn't care about the words. Orders are orders, he just does as he's told. Patiently, he waits for the man to give him another. 

Rumlow just glares at him for a moment, and he can see the wheels turning in his brain. Then, an evil grin mars his features. The soldier has seen it before, and deep inside, his heart sinks. No matter how many times this scenario plays out, he always loathes it.

"Touch yourself."

His right hand reaches down to his flaccid cock and systematically starts to pump it. There's no real way to gain any sort of arousal from this situation, and he longs to tell the other man this, but it's all a part of the game. Brock watches, increasingly getting annoyed at the other man. 

"Jesus, are you a fucking eunuch? Isn't there anything that gets you off? Big tits? Tight pussies? Blonde hair? Blue eyes?" Brock complains, and to the soldiers surprise, his cock twitches. The other man notices too. "Ah, you like that huh, maybe some pretty blue eyes watching you while you jerk it? Maybe she's begging you to get hard so you can fuck her good?"

The soldier closes his eyes. He can't explain it, but there is something about blonde hair, blue eyes, a soft inviting smile. . . but every time he grasps at the memory it starts to evade him. Still, it is a surprise to him when his cock starts to fill out under his ministrations. He can hear the other man chuckle darkly under his breath.

He knows it can't last, but the feeling that starts to pool in his belly isn't unpleasant, not like so many other times where people just used him and threw him aside. There hasn't been a time that anyone ever cared about his pleasure, and while he knows that the other man doesn't, this feeling summoned by something that he gets to think of is almost like a reward.

Brock pushes him back against the examination table, and he lays back, complying. His ass hangs off the edge, but it's easy to ignore with his own hand pumping gently on his cock, swelling and filling out. He can't remember the last time he was aroused without an aphrodisiac involved.

Something cold and thick drips down his crack, only to drip against the pucker of his anus. His eyes open a crack, as he looks up at the other man. Brock grimaces. "Shut your eyes. Whoever you're thinking about, keep thinking about 'em. I want you to come by the end of this. I want you to moan and scream and shake. I order you to fucking enjoy this."

The soldier's eyes flash, and he grits his teeth. this isn't what he wants. . .

. . . but he never gets a choice.

It's disturbing just how quickly his body betrays him, his manhood hardening, his balls starting to swell. He can still taste Brock's dick in his mouth. He closes his eyes, trying to get the visage of the black clad man out, take back in that soft smile.

. . . yes. So trusting, so gentle, the owner of that smile would never hurt him. Never backhand him, or kick him when he was down. Never put out cigarettes on his back, or come all over him and leave him alone and unwanted. 

God he wants that smile, those blue eyes.

His fingers strokes over his head and he gasps aloud, body suddenly sensitive. It feels good, thinking of this mystery person. Was it a woman? Something deep within him said no. If it was a man, he have must have been an incredibly kind soul.

"Use your fingers." The other man's voice cuts through his consciousness, and the soldier frowns slightly. His metal fingers search out his hole, and he suppresses a shiver at the cold. He drags one through the substance coating his crack, and pushes his index finger in, up to the knuckle, slowly and methodically. He doesn't expect it to feel good, but it does. Pistoning back and forth, he works his hole with one hand and strokes his cock with the other. What has been systematic in the past is starting to become more than that, more pleasurable than anything that he's felt since he can remember. He adds another finger, imagining that soft smile, saying gentle and geniune words in a soft tenor for him. All for him.

. . . tenor? A soft sigh escapes him. 

He is snapped from his reverie by the other man pulling his hand away, and the fat head of a cock pressing against his hole. "Playtime's over. Gonna make you moan like a whore." Brock states, and rams into him as hard as he can. Even with the work his fingers did, it burns. His passage isn't lubricated enough or relaxed to take such a violent outburst. Still, the other man shoves, centimeter by centimeter slowly invading his abused hole.

The soldier's hand stills on his arousal, his metal hand gripping the table hard enough to dent it. Rumlow digs his fingers into the brunette's hip. "I didn't say for you to stop, you fucking slut! You take my cock like you love it! You should be glad I'm letting you touch yourself! Stupid fucking useless piece of shit!" The man finally slams balls deep into him, and the brunette grits his teeth. He rolls his hips, and it seems to be enough for the other man. Brock pulls out, cock scraping roughly along his inner walls, only to plunge back in again, harder. 

Something within him whispers that the blonde haired blue eyed man would never do this to him. Never hurt him, never make him kill or fuck or cry. But maybe that's the point. The blue eyed man, if he even is real, is too good for a dog like him. The table creaks under his fist. Half-heartedly, he tugs on his cock, but it's wilted.

His hazy eyes open and look upon Rumlow with blank indifference, hands falling to his sides.

"God, you're fucking useless! What, you can't handle a little cock? You think you're too good for me?!" Brock screams, fucking him harder, he reaches out and grabs the soldier's dick, squeezing it painfully. Although the brunette winces, he doesn't make a sound. "I bet if I cut this fucking thing off, you'd make a sound!"

His face must change, because the other man laughs. "Yeah, you don't like the thought of that, do you? Don't see why. It's not like you use this thing anyway." Brock tugs him cruelly again, and the soldier arches off the table, hips bucking.

Brock's pace becomes frenzied, and before he knows it, the other man is coming, filling him with his spunk. Still, the brunette feels nothing. No arousal, no anger, nothing. The other man pulls out, and a sticky glob of semen splatters on the floor. The black haired man snorts, wipes his dick on the soldier's leg, and tucks himself back into his pants.

"Get dressed." He snaps, and the soldier hops off the table, reaching for a small towel on a shelf nearby. Brock eyes him. "I didn't say clean yourself up, you fucking idiot. I said get dressed. Man, I am telling Pierce all about your inability to follow orders, you fucking shit." The man continues to tirade as the soldier pulls on his underwear, then pants. The leather squelches when it reaches his ass, but he pays it no mind. An order is an order.

As he buttons his jacket closed he again looks at Brock, still mumbling obsceneties under his voice, and his heart sinks further. This is all he is. A puppet to be used for other peoples pleasures and plots. Even if there were someone out there who could love them as he was, why would they?

Exhaling softly, he follows Brock back to the cryotube.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I made Bucky suffer. He just hurts so pretty. ;3;


End file.
